Killer

“Oh my god,” I whisper. What Britt went through. It’s so horrific, I can’t even imagine. She’s not just strong, she’s stronger than anyone I know. “I can’t find her. She started screaming when she saw the invitation. She… she took off. She’s not at her apartment and neither is her car. I was hoping she’d be here.”

“She’s not here,” her father says, his voice mirroring the despair in mine.

“Could she be with a friend?” I ask, desperate for any lead I can get.

He shakes his head. “Britton isn’t the same girl she was before the incident.” I grimace, but he continues. “She doesn’t trust easily. She’s scared all the time. She doesn’t have any friends I know of.” Her father sighs and stares out the large window that overlooks the front drive. “I

’m proud of how far she’s come. Most people would have given up a long time ago, but Britt still has a long way to go.”

“I should leave,” I say, pulling up to my feet. “Thank you, sir.” I extend my hand, waiting to see what he’ll do.

He clasps it firmly. “Thank you for coming here. For caring about my daughter.” I turn to leave, but he stops me, handing me a card with his cell phone on it. “Luke.” I stare at the man, not sure what he means. “My name is Lucas Reeves, but you can call me Luke.”

Unable to manage a smile, I nod. “Thank you for your time, Luke.”

Back behind the wheel of my car, my mind is going a mile a minute as I weave through light traffic on my way back to my condo. I probably shouldn’t be driving as distracted as I am. I hate feeling helpless. I hate knowing what Britt went through. I hate that I can’t see her, hold her, tell her I’m here for her no matter what. If I could take all of her demons and add them to my own, I’d do it in a heartbeat. No one as good and sweet as Britt should have to suffer so much.

I pull into the parking garage beneath my condo, lean over the steering wheel, and allow myself to feel. And fuck, does it hurt.

13

Britt

Even though I’m lying down, my head is spinning. I know what’s happening to me. There’s no clock but I know it’s been at least twenty-four hours since I’ve had my seizure medication, possibly longer. I’m going through withdrawal.

“Max, please?” I beg for the hundredth time, too tired to even feel a sense of panic. My voice is raspy and ragged, too soft for him to hear. Max locked me in his bedroom while he’s doing god knows what out there. I don’t even know how long I’ve been here or where “here” is.

Has it been one day? Two? A week? Whenever Max puts the rag over my face, which I’ve decided is some sort of chloroform or ether, I wake up wrapped in his arms wanting to scream. The daylight showing through the curtain is fading. Time means nothing anymore. Max just keeps telling me I’ll eventually love him. Right now, I’m grateful he hasn’t touched me, sexually that is. I’m pretty sure even if he knocked me out, I’d wake up and know if something happened. The thought sends a dark ripple of fear across my skin.

The lock on the door turns and I tense up. I’m not sure if I’m better off alone or when Max comes in to chat with me. When he visits, he leaves the door unlocked, giving me a chance to escape. But I’m not stupid. How can I outrun him with my feet bound together? The knots in the natural fiber rope are too tight to work free and the room is stripped bare of anything I could use to cut through them. I can’t even chew through them—I’ve tried. Besides, my head feels odd, spacey—probably from all the chemicals Max makes me inhale.

“Time to eat,” Max says as if it were just any old day and we were a couple, about to enjoy a normal meal together.

“Max, you have to let me go. I need my medicine.”

Max puts the tray down on the bed and stares. He studies me for so long with those cold, almost reptilian eyes that goose bumps prick my skin.

“What medicine?” he asks.

I swallow down my fear. “I have seizures, Max. I can’t skip my medication. I don’t even know how long I’ve been here.”

“You had one seizure, Britt. At the fight in Vegas.” Those empty eyes narrow and another chill goes through me.

“No, Max. I had a brain injury, when I was fourteen. If I hit my head hard enough or skip my meds, I can have seizures. If it’s a big enough seizure, I can end up a vegetable or brain dead.” As strong as I’m trying to be, my hoarse voice trembles.

Max continues assessing me, unblinking. “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me?”

“Check behind my left ear.” I tilt my head for him. “There’s a scar where I had brain surgery.” Max glances at the door and back. Fear jolts through me when I realize what he’s thinking. “You don’t need the cloth, Max. It might cause a seizure. Just look at me. I promise I’ll stay still.”

He approaches slowly, his gaze predatory. It takes all my willpower not to scream or flinch when his cold hands sift through my hair, parting it to see my scalp. I feel his fingers slide along the twisted tissue where the doctors removed the bullet. After an eternity, he sits back.

“I believe you.” I exhale in relief. Max moves back, standing over me. “I was whispering in your ear the entire time I was looking at your scar and you didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

I shake my head, too frightened to respond. He’s too close and his touch makes my skin crawl. With a sharp nod of his head, Max leaves the room, coming back a few seconds later with the cloth in his hand.

“No, please!” I scramble back, pressing against the headboard, the sheets twisted up beneath my feet.

“It’s for your own good, Britt. Until you love me back, it’s really the best way. If you want me to get your medication, you won’t fight me.” Max grips my head firmly and presses the cloth over my face. No matter how many times he does it, I still struggle against the pull of the fumes.